Homecoming
by truglasgowgal
Summary: He’s been gone nearly a decade, but now Chuck Bass is returning to the one place he called home. Time has passed, and people have changed; but if true love ever existed, it can never really be lost… right? C/B/E centric
1. Prologue: Lead Me Home

Hey there!  
First off, let me apologise profusely for posting this when I still haven't updated _Show Me Right_ OR _Through Mist & Elegance_.  
This came to me yesterday after having watched and read about the most recent episode, and I simply could not go without writing it. Rest assured, for any followers of my other fics, I am in the process of typing those up and I will try and post the next instalments as soon as I can. Sorry again for all the delays in doing so. Life gets in the way like that, and my muse can sometimes be a stubborn mule when it comes to writing what and when ;)  
I just really wanted to post this and see what the reaction is. I'm thinking of continuing (obv ;) ) but wanted some feedback nonetheless. The next chapter of this, however, might not be immediate as I have an exam on thurs that I'm supposed to be studying for, and two other fics to update also – updates which are LONG overdue.

However, feedback would be very much appreciated, and I hope you enjoy…

* * *

**Title:** Homecoming  
**Disclaimer:** Don't own anything – unfortunately :'( lol  
**A/N:** This contains spoilers for anyone who's yet to see 2.13, and also possibly from future episodes. Though they are loosely based.  
**Summary:** He's been gone nearly a decade, but now Chuck Bass is returning to the one place he called _home_. Time has passed, and people have changed; but if true love ever existed, it can never really be lost… right?

.

"_A man travels the world over in search of what he needs and returns home to find it.__"  
__**George Moore**_

"_Comfortable as I am, I need your reassurance;  
__And comfortable as you are, you count the days  
_…  
_But if I wanted silence, I would whisper;  
__And if I wanted loneliness, I'd choose to go  
_…  
_And if I didn't love you, you would know.__"  
**'Just Hold Me', Maria Mena**_

.

Prologue: Lead Me Home

.

"'_When I'm alone' – the words tripped off his tongue  
As though to be alone were nothing strange.  
'When I was young,' he said; 'when I was young...'_

_I thought of age, and loneliness, and change.  
I thought how strange we grow when we're alone,  
And how unlike the selves that meet and talk,  
And blow the candles out, and say good night._

_Alone... The word is life endured and known.  
It is the stillness where our spirits walk  
And all but inmost faith is overthrown."  
**'Alone', Siegfried Sassoon**_

.

The Bass name follows Chuck wherever he goes. And he's not ashamed of it; could never be. But he's not his father. And no matter what he does or says, nothing will change that. Nothing will make him Bart Bass reincarnated. Nothing will bring him back.

His Uncle once told him he had too much of his mother in him. He'd scoffed at that and said Lily had hardly been around _that_ long. A curious look had been sent his way at that, but nothing more was said of it.

He knows what was meant by the comment, of course; but _Misty Bass_ was no more a mother to him than Bart was anything but a distant father. And that's not her fault, not his either: though he takes the omission with less than the pinch of salt he used to provide Serena with her tequila.

He knows why he can never be like his father; knows why he never truly wants to.

What he has too much of in him is _her_.

Always has, always will.

.

**Another summer day**  
**Has come and gone away**  
**In Paris and Rome**  
**But I wanna go home**  
**Mmmmmmmm**

**Maybe surrounded by  
A million people I  
Still feel all alone  
I just wanna go home  
Oh, I miss you, you know  
**

_**And even though the moment passed me by  
I still can't turn away  
Cause all the dreams you never thought you'd lose  
Got tossed along the way  
And letters that you never meant to send  
Get lost or thrown away**_

.

It's odd, but not completely unexpected that Blair Waldorf and Eric van der Woodsen became fast and best friends in the repercussions that followed in his wake; after all, they are one and the same, two of a kind. The remnants of the love lost in the fallout of the Van der Bass familial battle.

He's always been the caring, thoughtful one: Serena the carefree, fleeting concept. So when she ran away with her boyfriend, and his mother eloped with her (ex)-lover; he was the last remaining pillar in a crumbling temple.

And they clung to each other, while everyone else resumed their lives with their better halves: because how could they compete with that? Theirs had left; and told them not to follow.

_**.**_

_**And now we're grown up orphans  
That never knew their names  
We don't belong to no one  
That's a shame  
But if you could hide beside me  
Maybe for a while  
And I won't tell no one your name  
And I won't tell 'em your name**_

**And I've been keeping all the letters that I wrote to you  
Each one a line or two  
"I'm fine baby, how are you?"  
Well I would send them but I know that it's just not enough  
My words were cold and flat  
And you deserve more than that**

.

She never followed him; a fact that remains, in Chuck's mind, as clear as the dim mist in his eyes that he has to shake more often these days to be rid of. For he can't decide if he's glad, even after all this time, or a little disappointed.

But regret doesn't become him, and he's always been more of a 'seize the day' kind of guy anyway. At least that's what he tells himself; black ink imprinted on his skin or otherwise.

He can't help but think of her though, because there's always that glimmer of hope. And he blames childhood naïveté and unresolved… elements in times for this, because he doesn't have _issues_.

But she wrote to him once.

_In the face of true love, you don't just give up: even if the object of your affection is begging you to._

She hadn't signed it, hadn't included anything else; no photos, or trinkets; just those words. Black ink scrawled across crisp white parchment.

He's carried it with him ever since.

So nobody could ever lay fault to him for never forgetting her.

And he couldn't be held accountable for never even attempting to replace her.

Because _she'd_ been the one to say those words: those _three _words, those eight letters. She'd been the one to say them, and make him believe her.

So nobody could blame him for coming back now, especially now.

Nobody could blame him.

.

**Another aeroplane  
Another sunny place  
I'm lucky I know  
But I wanna go home  
Mmmm, I've got to go home**

**_Scars are souvenirs you never lose  
The past is never far  
Did you lose yourself somewhere out there  
Did you get to be a star  
And don't it make you sad to know that life  
Is more than who we are_**

**Let me go home  
I'm just too far from where you are  
I wanna come home**

.

If Blair and Eric were truly honest, they'd probably admit to both being damaged beyond real, everlasting repair. But they cover this over with trappings of faith and recovery and costume phrases of _change_ and _development._

Less than a week after she'd woken to a bed still lukewarm to the touch, she discovered the younger crouched by the side of the bed, in a room that whispered ghosts to her on entrance; the blade in hand. His knuckles had turned white, and the tip had already pierced his skin. Together they watched as droplet after droplet of blood plummeted to the floor: life pooling around them. She pried the knife from his grasp and wrapped her hand tightly around his wrist; he was too stunned to resist, and he looked down to find the fingers of her other hand had already found his.

Two days later, he discovered her huddled next to the toilet, in a bathroom that's mirrors reflected more of him than he'd ever dared see. He wordlessly flushed, handed her a hand towel, and offered her his hand. Their fingers remained entwined the whole time he guided her along; ever patient, he allowed her the time she needed on shaky legs.

They're allied by a desperation so great that they could never truly part.

And they know they'll never be rid of that desperation, because if they got him back, they'd likely hold onto him just as tight.

No, they'd hold him tighter, because they'd do it together, and because they couldn't lose him again.

Because to lost him again would be to lose themselves.

And they'd already been pulled from the brink one too many times for either of them to endure it any further.

Yet, in this alliance: an alliance of a desperation so great as to bind two people so completely; their saving grace could be the very thing that breaks them.

Blair Waldorf and Eric van der Woodsen have both seen a side of Chuck Bass that could sway them either way: after all, the Angel of Death seemed an oxymoron in itself.

So he'll be the Devil's Advocate or their Guardian Angel.

But he'll still be playing God.

.

**And I feel just like I'm living someone else's life  
It's like I just stepped outside  
When everything was going right  
And I know just why you could not  
Come along with me  
'Cause this was not your dream  
But you always believed in me**

_**You grew up way too fast  
And now there's nothing to believe  
And reruns all become our history  
A tired song keeps playing on a tired radio  
And I won't tell no one your name  
And I won't tell 'em your name**_

**Another winter day has come  
And gone away  
In even Paris and Rome  
And I wanna go home  
Let me go home**

.

Chuck had meant what he said that day, to Lily. That when the will was read and he'd received the money he was due since birth, she would never see him again. Nearly a decade has past, and he's almost followed through with that.

Except now he's throwing all that to Hell.

And he can't work out if the gnawing deep in his bones is because he hasn't seen his _family_ in nearly a decade; or if it's simply the migration from those incessant _moths_ that seem to have found light within the darkness of his abyss at the mere thought of _her_ being present for his _homecoming_.

The reasoning is likely neither of these things, but present moments mean he prefers them to the possibility that it is something else.

If it's something else, he really will be going home.

He doesn't spare enough dread to dwell on that, instead he casts a look skyward; at the building that played house to him during his errant teenage youth and beyond. His eyes drift easily at the sounds from within and he sees her before any other thought can enter his mind other than: _go to her_. And so, he steps closer.

Closer, to the one thing that could destroy Chuck Bass entirely.

.

**And I'm surrounded by  
A million people I  
Still feel all alone  
Oh, let me go home  
Oh, I miss you, you know**

_**I think about you all the time  
But I don't need the same  
It's lonely where you are come back down  
And I won't tell 'em your name**_

**Let me go home  
I've had my run  
Baby, I'm done  
I gotta go home  
Let me go home  
It will all be all right  
I'll be home tonight  
I'm coming back home**

.

"_Live through this, and you won't look back."  
**'Your Ex-Lover is Dead', Stars**_

.

TBC…

* * *

Songs: (bold) 'Home', Michael Buble´/ (bold italics) 'Name', Goo Goo Dolls

Thanks so much for reading, and please let me know what you think – it means a lot!  
Steph  
xxx


	2. Ghost of New York Past

Hope you enjoy…

* * *

Chapter One: Ghost of New York Past

.

_"He and I had something beautiful_  
_But so dysfunctional, it couldn't last_  
_I loved him so but I let him go_  
_'Cause I knew he'd never love me back_

_Such pain as this_  
_Shouldn't have to be experienced_  
_I'm still reeling from the loss,_  
_Still a little bit delirious_

_Near to you, I am healing_  
_But it's taking so long 'Cause though he's gone_  
_And you are wonderful_  
_It's hard to move on_  
_Yet, I'm better near to you._

_You and I have something different_  
_And I'm enjoying it cautiously_  
_I'm battle scarred, I am working oh so hard_  
_To get back to who I used to be_  
**_'Near To You' by A Fine Frenzy_**

.

Nobody quite seems to know how to react when Blair and Eric are together. Because he is the one who was 'outted' in front of all those prominent in their generation at a party hosted by one of his supposed best friend's. And she; she is the one who traded in the former Golden Boy with behind-closed-doors Daddy issues for the resident bad boy whose reputation for womanizing and drinking was already in place to greet him by the time he walked through the doors of St. Jude's as a freshman; Daddy issues not so much hidden in house, but six feet under.

It should annoy them; but exhaustion has wearied them over the years and frustration over things that seem so trivial is merely a further waste on their tentative energy sources.

So they let the society wives talk in their hushed tones with their pointed looks, let the teenage socialites spy behind giggles and stares that proclaim knowledge they have no idea of.

And they haven't given up; they just didn't fight it to begin with.

It isn't a battle they should have to win; isn't a battle they should have to fight.

It isn't a battle at all.

Others may misinterpret it: they may judge them from their pedestals or praise them from the sidelines; but they know what they are, and they have never once forgotten that.

They are two people who found each other in a time of unspeakable need, and have clung to one another ever since.

And they don't need anyone else to understand that: because it should be common sense, their migration.

Explanation and justification should have been demanded of those that fled, not those left behind.

And that's part of the problem.

They don't deserve it, and they certainly shouldn't expect it. So she offers them none: not any of them.

Except him.

She shouldn't have to, doesn't have to, but she knows she would. If he ever comes back.

That _is _the problem.

.

The doorman has enough tact and sensibility _not_ to openly gawp at Chuck's presence when he steps through the entrance to saunter inside the fortress of gold across a carpet rolled red for his arrival.

His eyes burn with the clash of color, and he nods briefly at Arthur on the desk as he strides into the elevator; waiting for him.

He's not naïve enough to feign ignorance to the elder man with the knowing gaze: eyes as clear and vast as the ocean watch his every move with a kindness and relation that makes him jam his finger into the button harder than is probably necessary.

Except it _is_ necessary.

Because he deems it so.

And that's the way it should be.

He's Chuck Bass and he doesn't answer to anyone.

He catches sight of chocolate locks cascading over shoulders and flowing over porcelain skin; sees ruby red lips and big doe eyes.

Mist clouds his vision and he shakes his head to clear it, not even bothering to try and argue the cause.

Waving off the 'help' lingering around him, he strides towards his destination. And rolling his eyes at his body's betrayal, he raises his head; jutting out his chin and steeling his gaze to what lies ahead. He lifts his hands and wraps them around cool metal before him; allowing the chills to run a complete course through his veins before he takes another step.

And with a smirk, and a mischievous glint in his eye, he pushes open the double doors to the world beyond.

He always did know how to make an entrance.

.

A hush falls over the room and there's clear gasps from unashamed mouths: but the _Oh My God's_ aren't like the scandalized utterings Blair's used to, they're _Oh My God's_ like they have been graced by the return of the Prodigal Son.

.

When Chuck enters, eyes turn to him and people spread to the fringes. His step is light, stumble-free, and he strides into the room with the ease of the Devil amid the flames of Hell itself.

Brief flashes pay testament to his presence, and accompany the flurry of words that he catches surrounding him. Eyes are still on him, words are still about him, photos are still of him.

Some things never change, he thinks.

.

Blair raises her eyes in the direction of the source of all this commotion, and glass slips from between her fingers and drops to the floor with a shatter that resounds the room, but is deaf to her ears.

She doesn't register the looks around her, the words that have migrated to surround her, the people milling about her: doesn't see anything but him.

She can already smell him on her clothes, feel his touch on her skin; sense his eyes fixated on her.

Nothing else matters in that moment, except her and him.

The Prodigal Son really has returned.

Chuck Bass has come home.

.

"_My land is bare of chattering folk;  
__the clouds are low along the ridges,  
__and sweet's the air with curly smoke  
__from all my burning bridges."  
__**Dorothy Parker**_

.

TBC…

* * *

A/N: I apologise profusely for the delay. I did mean to update when I said, then our internet went down for like a week or more, and then I went home for the holidays and was visiting family and friends an it was all jus crazy.  
So I apologise for the wait and the shortness of this chapter, I'll try update each day from now on or as soon as – this isn't going to be the longest fic ever, don't worry, lol ;)

Thanks for reading and reviewing – it means so much to me!  
Steph  
xxx


	3. Change Comes With The Wind

A/N: bold type is memories/past

* * *

Chapter Two: Change Comes With The Wind

.

"_Fools look to tomorrow; wise men use tonight."  
__**Scottish Proverb**_

.

Eric is the first to reach him: cutting a fine path through the waves that roll around them, and appearing before the elder man like a visionary does his devout.

"You came back," the younger comments when he stands eye to eye with him.

"As I said I would," he replies easily, turning to face the other male; and amber swirls into the dark abyss.

.

**Chuck's figure framed the door; fingers wrapped round the handle, poised, when Eric called his name.**

"**You are coming back… right?" he asked of his brother.**

**Trepidation seeped from his pores as he stepped closer towards the brunette.**

**Their eyes met and he was struck by the depth of his brother's eyes; the slack of his mouth; the transparency of his skin.**

**He witnessed the slight twitch of the jaw; the narrowing brow-line; the fire rising across porcelain.**

**When the cutting reply didn't come; his forehead creased in confusion.**

**When the witty retort didn't come; his eyes widened in hesitation.**

**When the sly response didn't come; his lips pursed in uncertainty.**

**And then, after a few moments, he simply said, "Don't I always?"**

**The younger watched him turn and walk out the door; the dull thud resounded in his ears for days to come, plagued him in his sleep till he could no longer tell if he was living a waking dream or just tortured reality.**

**It took months of constant personal barraging and the wonders of hindsight for Eric to realize Chuck had never specified **_**when**_**.**

.

People bustle around Blair; making a fuss about her, cleaning up her mess.

Some things never change, she thinks.

Except they do.

Because it is a blonde standing tall and unwavering next to her.

Because it is a different brunette flanking her on the other side.

Because it is a younger positioned defensively before her.

Because none of them are him.

.

"You've been gone a long time," Eric remarks.

His brother simply nods, making no attempt to hide the fact he is regarding him with careful thought.

"We wondered if you'd ever come back," he continues, and he releases a breath with a small, wry smile.

"We've already been over this," the elder's voice is clear and concise; but he can hear tiredness in the words and can't tear this thought from his mind.

He shakes his head, ridding it of any further ideas linked to his previous words; and inwardly chastising himself. There's so much he wants to say, wants to do. But his initial bravado is dissipating at such a rapid rate; he doesn't think he'll get the chance to experience any of it before his time is up.

And then, something unexpected happens.

"What did you really come over here to say, Eric?"

Chuck saves him.

His eyes snap up to meet the dark orbs; open in expectation.

"I – I – " he's stuttering like he has a speech impediment, as if his mother didn't buy him the best education in the city.

And then he finds himself.

Remembers who he is.

Recalls that exact moment years ago, when he and a certain petite brunette formed a pact deeper than blood to protect one another, to look out for one another, until the one who was supposed to save them returned.

Until Chuck Bass returned.

"What are you doing here, Chuck?" he demands; and the tone is clear, blunt; and so like the elder's that he catches him almost smirking at the resemblance.

His brother opens his mouth to retort when something seems to catch his eyes.

The elder's whole demeanor, his stance, his features; everything that encompasses his being, it does a complete 360; and he plays witness to emotion more plain than he's ever encountered in his life, before the mask is readjusted.

"This is my hotel," is the simple reply he receives; head cocked to the side for a different angle.

"You own most of the city," he retorts.

There's reason behind everything his brother does, and he intends to discover the one behind this sudden desire to return to memory lane.

"Exactly," Chuck says, his eyes suddenly more entrancing than ever.

And then there's the smirk.

"I can come and go as I damn well please."

.

Blair catches sight of Lily as she politely thanks one of the doormen for providing her with an easy exit, and notes that the tall blonde next to her has still not moved from her side.

She casts a shaky smile at the girl who's been her best friend for more years than she can remember in silent gratitude and gains one back in return.

She turns and does the same to the man she once thought held within him the boy-wonder potential to be her Prince Charming, and he nods in understanding.

Her gaze returns to the younger; the one who's been her closest confidante for nearly ten years. The one who's replaced both female counterpart and male suitor.

The one who's her stronghold to cling to in her darkest hours while she silently wishes his shoulders were that little bit broader; and his eyes that bit deeper and darker; that his touch burned her to her very core; that his voice danced its way across her heart; that his scent painted her soul with its mark.

.

A man, roughly the same age as Eric, approaches his brother and leans forward to mutter something in his ear. The elder nods at the newly received information and then turns back to face him, while informing the other male in their newly formed triangle to have the car brought round.

"What, you're leaving? Already?" his voice is an octave higher than he intends it to be, and he hates how desperate and weak it makes him sound.

And then he decides, in that same moment, that maybe he doesn't hate it.

Maybe it's what he needs the elder to hear.

Maybe it's what will give him the understanding of what he did to them, what his _absence_ did to them.

Maybe it's what will give Chuck a sense of perspective on what his return is _already_ doing to them.

Maybe it's what will finally give him his brother back.

.

Chuck has not seen Lily in nearly ten years and he doesn't particularly have the desire to alter such a feat.

He'd like to think after all that's happened that she'd respect this one thing they have.

She is notably absent when he enters the room, and he _knows_ she's currently staying in her old suite, the one of eons gone. He also knows she's having some 'problems' with her… with that… with _**Rufus Humphrey**_.

She's the woman who claimed to love his father. Who was planning on leaving him the night – oh yes, he knows about that; of _course_ he knows about that.

She's the woman who claimed they were a family. Who held no regard for what would happen to her step_son_ in the wake of her decisions that night.

And she's staying in his hotel, his _father's_ hotel; she's staying in her dead husband's home.

And he's doing nothing about it.

She's staying out of his way, and he's… he's turning a blind eyes to what should be another betrayal.

It makes him think their time together might have meant something after all.

It makes him think maybe family runs deeper than blood and water and lies and betrayal.

Makes him think that maybe the van der Basses didn't die with his father, but were simply buried alongside him: and everyone knows, that something buried, is eventually found again.

.

Blair's out of sight, but she's watching Eric with eyes polished from years of skillful subtlety. Her eyes are trained solely on the younger, because another glance at the man before him, and she doesn't know if she'll be able to walk out of there.

Her mind spins in a whirlwind as his profile, ever striking, flickers across her vision and dark eyes lock onto her own.

She thinks she might have forgotten to breathe again, because the world is spinning and she sees his brow crease lightly. Her eyes widen, and her mouth falls open, but he's already stepped past the younger; moving among the people, he makes a line for the exit. It's discreet, but she notices.

Her eyes follow him, and she feels the shakes begin to rack her slight frame. They fall on the scotch glass he's just deposited on a waiting server's tray and pursue him as he weaves a web around her in his escape.

When she finally releases him from her watchful eye, Eric is by her side; eyes as deep and amber as the contents in the glass Chuck has left in his wake.

.

Chuck breaks from his reverie to follow Eric's gaze and knows immediately that the search is for the familiar blonde hair of his mother.

When amber eyes turn to meet his; there's softness at the edges, and understanding emanating from the very core.

He forces down the tangy taste burning his throat and nods at the younger: gifting him with, "I'll see you again soon, brother."

Reinforcement of the idea that not all things lost stay that way.

Chuck Bass is home; and he intends to show the world exactly what that means.

.

"_Time blows softly all around us,  
But we don't feel it now.  
You made much more than a hole in the sky, boy.  
You made us hollow on the inside."  
_'_**Leave A Note' by Missy Higgins**_

.

TBC…

* * *

A/N: For anyone I confused, I apologise.  
Order goes: Chuck – Eric – Blair – Eric – Blair - Eric - Chuck – Blair - Chuck

Hope you liked, and thanks so much for reading and reviewing – it means a lot!  
So, please continue to do so! :D  
Steph  
xxx


	4. Masters of Self

My sincerest apologies for the mega delay in getting this update to you, but I do have good reasons for it! (well, mostly)

First off, I did have my exams to study for and then to sit, which spanned nearly a month since I was revising for like two weeks before I had to sit them. THEN, some of my 'friends' spilt coke over my laptop, so it's been pretty much useless for the past month also, until I FINALLY got it fixed. And THEN, I finally tried to write this part, and realised I wanted to change the order of things, so I've had to completely remodel the outline and all the parts I'd already typed up and where things happen and whatnot, but I'm pretty much finished with that now, so updates should **hopefully** be coming more frequently from now on

And there are my reasons for the delay, and I hope you enjoy this next instalment…

* * *

Chapter Three: Masters of Self

"'_Cause this is the day that everything changes  
And the world stops turning, running straight,  
Into the break lights, you've come to nothing  
This is the day that everything changes and your worlds collide  
You know in time you'll wake to find you're a little unbroken."  
**'Unbroken', Missy Higgins**_

.

Blair has known since the moment she saw him that night at the Palace that he'd come to her; he always does.

The sleek black limo has been following her around for the better part of a week now, and to be honest saying she is pretty tired of it is like saying she wanted to go to Yale; it's a society understatement.

This isn't the first time she's approached the vehicle; but it's the first time she's managed to get close enough to it to see her reflection staring back at her from the tinted windows of his refuge.

Eric warns her against such actions, but she's still Blair Waldorf, _somewhere_ in there. All that changes are her steps become all the more purposeful, her back that little bit straighter, and her face more determined by the moment.

She would have her answers.

He lets her get far enough to touch; close enough to knock on the dark glass pane.

He lets her, and she knows this.

And after a moment, the door opens.

A man steps out, doesn't look at her, simply stands guard over the vehicle's entrance; the gateway to her own personal Hell.

It's all or nothing with them; they've never been about compromise.

So, she places a hand on the top of the door, feels the edge cut into her palm and in one swift move, she slips inside.

She slips across the cool leather interior, finds herself sitting at a right angle to him; feels the jolt of electricity as her knee touches his for a single moment; sees his eyes switch, his body stiffen.

The sound of the door slamming shut behind her, and the feeling of another presence next to her shakes her from her reverie.

He ends the phone call with a few choice words and then turns to the man beside her.

"I trust that you'll be able to make the necessary arrangements," he states, because even as a teenager when Chuck Bass asked for something it was considered done before he'd even finished uttering the words.

Apparently, he no longer asks for anything anymore. It's done anyway. His will is their command.

"You know, not many people enjoy being stalked," she says from directly beside him.

He turns around, slowly, and gives her a lazy smirk, in acknowledgment. "Blair."

"I think we need to have a little chat," is all she says to that.

"Your place or mine?" his lips quirk at the teasing inflection his tongue performs for her.

She shoots him a look, and feels another set of eyes doing the same. She watches him look down momentarily, touch a finger to his lips, release a low chuckle.

"Right," he states; and he raises his head, but instead he looks past her at the man seated next to her. "The Waldorf Residence it is."

.

The ride is almost silent.

Lachlan is typing away on his handheld; no doubt rescheduling certain imminent procedures that are pushing the limits of Chuck's deadline, even by his standards.

Blair alternates between staring straight ahead, and looking out the window next to her.

He spends a short while staring out at the city he'd left for rubble and ruin almost a decade ago.

He can feel her eyes on him, almost like a wish for his last moments.

The click of fingers across keys and the shuffle of cloth across skin and leather do nothing to compete with the sound of his breathing.

If it was any louder he thinks he'd be rasping, gasping maybe, for air, for liquid. He's not too sure at that moment.

He wants a drink, badly.

But he needs to move to get to the mini-bar and doing that would mean the rush of cool air between their barely touching legs. It would mean two sets of eyes watching his every move like they're already shifted to pursue with the slightest lift of his arm towards the cabinet.

He almost takes perverse pleasure in his painstakingly slow movements, as he reaches over and lifts the bottle of water, and sees them exhale from the corner of his eyes.

He can still feel her gaze; burning a hole in his chest, when he turns back round.

A gulp of water, and the cool liquid trickling down his throat is barely enough to quench his thirst, certainly not enough to battle the fire within; but it will suffice for now, like it always does.

He takes a deep breath and meets her eyes. They, too, have faded; mahogany without its shine, but her gaze is no less piercing. He feels as if she's reading him, learning things without having to ask.

He turns and looks away.

.

When they're inside, Blair drops her bags to the marble floor and unceremoniously throws her coat over the back of a chair, calling out for her Polish maid.

He quirks an eyebrow at this, which she takes note of, and then crushes with a scathing glance.

He seems to realize in that instant that she isn't in the best mood for his antics.

Dorota comes scurrying out, still eager to please her, even after all the years.

She takes note of the company, eyes suddenly widening before finally appearing to hear her as she scuttles off to do as she's been instructed. She comes back mere minutes later to settle a tray on the table between them; all that separates them.

"So, _Chuck_, what are you doing here?" she questions instantly.

Her eyes are hard, and it's _her_ eyebrow that's raised now; because this is not a battleground, she has nothing to defend.

He takes a few moments before even attempting to respond. When he does; he leans forward, and her eyes are on his like she's never seen another with such eyes as his, she hasn't.

"I have a confession to make," his words are slow, deliberate.

"I'd imagine you have many," she simply says by way of reply.

He gives her a slight acknowledgment at that, smirking a little as he remarks, "Touché."

He shuffles somewhat, readjusts his position, but he doesn't look uncomfortable, just… _restless_. And then seeks out her eyes.

"I was beginning to forget what you looked like," he tells her; and there's something close to salvation about him now.

"Does it matter?" she asks simply, with a flicker of a raised eyebrow, as she meets his eyes.

He exhales in a chuckle, and dips his head; and she has to strain to hear the words she knows have been uttered from the slight twitch of his lips.

"Apparently, it's the only thing that does."

And in a single, swift movement he lifts the tumbler she's left by the wayside and downs its contents: pouring the alcohol down his throat as if it will burn his personal prison from his very soul.

It could only ever do the opposite now.

.

Serena calls and though Blair is insistent about returning the call later, the maid is adamant this cannot wait, and so she goes to attend to the blonde.

Manipulation seems to run from the gallows to the docks and then some; Chuck would roll his eyes if it weren't all so drenched in irony.

He takes the moment to stand, stretch out his legs; gulp down the rest of his glass of water, and then another.

His eyes fall across the photos framed in silver and decorating the countertop with their spread.

There's those he expects: those of Blair and Eleanor with Harold and Roman, Blair and Serena both then and now. There's those he doesn't quite expect: the iconic image of their little foursome Freshman year, the photo of the three left behind plus one on her Graduation Day. And then there are those that take his breath away: the picture of Blair and Eric at her Senior Prom displayed proudly front and centre; the image of he and Blair at his father's wedding to Lily, eyes only for each other; the reflection of their single night together at The Snowflake Ball, the other dancing couples blurred to obscurity in their presence; both tucked neatly behind the other as in for safekeeping.

His eyes return to the picture of their Graduation. She's smiling, but he can see it doesn't quite reach her eyes: eyes that are light from the sun, but nothing else.

He'd gone to St. Jude's. Roamed the halls beneath the title of desperate cases, learned alongside the depiction of lost causes.

He reminisces, because those times were good, great even.

He reminisces, because really there was more of a relationship between him and that school than simply institutional; an education beyond what he could've anticipated.

He reminisces, because if he has to remember it means he's not reliving the past.

But most of all, he reminisces; because he knows that soon it will all turn to ash like everything else and he'd quite like to bask in its warmth till then.

.

"Chuck," a voice says from the doorway.

Blair follows his gaze as he looks over and sees the tall sandy-haired man from earlier.

"We really must be going," he tells him.

"I told you to reschedule," is the cold reply.

"And I did," the other says, "But you need to be there. Now."

She watches his dark eyes narrow slightly, sees his blue-eyed counterpart stand strong, unwavering.

"I'm sorry, but this can't wait. You know it can't," he's imploring him to see reason in an unreasonable situation, she knows it; she can see it in the depth of his eyes.

She catches the small flicker as the ocean spreads across to take in the array of plates and glasses littered over the coffee table: the half-filled jug of water, the empty tumbler, the untouched food.

"If you push this now, we won't get the results. As good as last time, or at all," are the blonde's next words.

She sees his jaw twitch, and then tighten, sees his eyes glaze over slightly.

"I have the car downstairs," he informs him.

She watches him nod stiffly after what seems like another few moments of quiet deliberation.

"The silver one," the blond adds. "I thought you might appreciate the need for speed."

His lips twitch upwards at this, and he nods once more.

"What is he? Your minder?" she comments scathingly, stepping into the room to join the two men.

He really does smirk at this, replying simply, "Blair Waldorf, this is Lachlan MacIntrye. My apologies for not introducing you two earlier."

The blonde nods, and takes her hand, kissing the back of it, and straightening up to send her a dazzling smile and charming her with an accented, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Waldorf."

"You have him trained well," she remarks at his behaviour. "And dressed well to boot."

He merely rolls his eyes, and that seems effort enough.

"Another stray you took in out of the goodness of your soul, Charles?" she baits; but it seems that it's his turn to not be in the mood for antics.

And as if on cue for introductions, the elevator rings, its doors open, and out steps Eric.

"Oh, I'm sorry; I didn't realize I was interrupting," he comments on seeing the three standing before him.

"You're a little late, I'm leaving," his brother comments; eyes dark, face inscrutable.

"But not before meeting your charming escort, Chuck," she remarks, and sends him a smirk.

His face remains unchanged.

"Eric, this is Lachlan MacIntrye," she introduces, giving him a smug look when the two greet one another.

"And while it really is wonderful to finally meet you both, we really do have to be going," the blonde announces. "Now."

He sends her a smirk at that as the taller man turns and begins to make a path for the elevator.

"Blair, until next time," he awards her, and drops his head only a half-inch to incline his head towards her and then the male by her side. "Eric."

Apparently, he also must be going.

A quick, thinly veiled excuse, and he's practically running to catch his brother and the elevator before it closes, and with it this window of opportunity.

Honestly, she's had about enough of this whole protective side all these males around her seem to be displaying. If they didn't cause her so many problems, she wouldn't need protecting in the first place; not to mention the fact that the very ones protecting her are the ones she should be protected against. It is they that she cares for most after all.

.

"Enjoyable trip down memory lane?" the younger asks lightly; but it's a loaded question if he's ever heard one.

"Seeing Blair is always memorable," is Chuck's even response a few, tense, moments later.

"Mmm," the other deliberates. "Isn't it just."

Of course he doesn't want to talk; talking about the past leads to thinking about the past, and thinking about the past never leads him anywhere he wants to go. Except her. And they've already been there today, so there's no need to rehash the details. Especially to a man who's still stuck in that past with visions of those he once knew. It's like he's stuck in a box with Peter Pan; and to be honest, it's exhausting.

He hates how everything he's ever really appreciated in life keeps disappearing and he doesn't particularly value the extra reminder.

Deep down behind those hostile eyes is still a little boy, the one who had already learned that life really wasn't much fun for anybody; and the best way to avoid further rejection was to make himself as objectionable as possible. Then it would never come as a surprise to find himself unloved. Only a simple fact.

The younger seems to think he knows him; even after all this time.

Self-assessed, he's hard to read, but not impossible; at least, that's how he used to be.

And every so often he knows the younger manages to catch onto something of that boy he once knew, or once thought he knew.

"You're afraid of something, but you won't admit to it," is the observation from beside him, as his brother turns his head to survey him fully.

It's unnerving.

"You're seeing things," he replies: because he is, and in any case it _is_ unnerving.

Only he should be able to read people that well, notice everything about them, scrutinize every little detail; but then, that was always why they got along so well. They lived within the city's very core; but they learned on the fringes of society. It was why they made such brilliant witnesses, why they were the true masters of their own visibility.

"You're afraid," the younger reiterates.

"I'm not afraid, Eric," he says determinately, letters forced out between clenched teeth.

It's taking all his strength not to punch something. He's knows what he's doing: he's trying to trick him into telling him things that he isn't ready to speak of. He can't. Not to him: not to her: not to anyone.

The younger sighs and brushes some lint from his shoulder, as the carriage comes to a stop, "I guess not."

As the doors creep open, the man who still considers himself his brother turns back to look at him.

"Don't be stubborn like he taught you. Sometimes you need to accept things so that you can move on. It's a gift she gave you. Don't let it be in vain."

He watches Eric step out into the front lobby. He's coming to realize just how much there is he still doesn't know about him. But then again, the younger doesn't know everything there is to him.

He remains in the elevator and jams his finger into the button that allows him to descend further.

"Call the limo," he tells the tall blonde who's watching him closely but shrewdly, the ever vigil presence by his side. "I'll make the damn appointment on my own."

And with that he lets the doors close between them.

In the world they live in, secrets are the only things that keep you alive.

They should know that better than anyone.

.

"What is he afraid of?" Eric holds a gentle lilt to his enquiry, coaxing, but curious.

"Now?" the blonde asks, eyes never leaving his charge.

He nods.

They hear the rev of an engine and watch a silver sports car streak past them, see brown eyes blazing in the driver's seat.

"Losing control," is his instant, matter-of-fact response.

"Wait, what?" he questions, confusion toning his words. "Why?"

"Why is your brother afraid of such a thing? Of losing control?" the elder man voices.

Blue clashes with blue, and there's a tidal wave waiting to break across the cool ocean.

"Because he knows to lose control is to put his fate in the hands of others," the elder instills the weight of the world in him. "And what could be more dangerous than that, right?"

In the distance he can still hear the screech of tires, but all he can see is the image of the burning man; all that's left of his brother, slowing slipping away from him.

.

"_When the heart is full, the tongue will speak."  
__**Scottish Proverb**_

.

TBC…

* * *

A/N: Order goes as follows, for anyone confused (I think, hope, that's right)  
Blair – Chuck – Blair – Chuck – Blair – Chuck – Eric

Also, "Deep down… Only a simple fact." – Inspired by a little bit in 'One Child'  
And the last conversation between Eric and Lachlan is inspired by a part in Desperate Housewives

Thanks so much for reading, and I'll try have the next chapter up for you as soon as I can :)  
Please let me know what you think – it means a lot!  
Steph  
xxx


	5. From Chuck To Blair, And Back Again

Apologies for the delay, I'm back trying to finish this just now, so hopefully the updates won't be so sporadic :)

Hope you like...

* * *

Chapter Four: From Chuck, To Blair and Back Again

"_When I say, 'I love you', it's not because I want you or because I can't have you. It has nothing to do with me. I love what you are, and what you do, how you try. I've seen your kindness and your strength. I've seen the best and the worst of you. And I understand with perfect clarity exactly what you are. You're a Hell of a woman."  
__**Spike to Buffy, BtVS**_

.

There's a glint in the corner of the room that catches Chuck's eyes and refuses to release its hold on him. So brilliant, he almost has to stop himself from flinching. Eric notices. He notices that Eric notices. He supposed that must count for something. The younger stays silent for a moment, and he wonders if it's because of his near-twitch-like reaction to the bright lights or because he's still mad at him.

"She's kept it all these years," the younger finally says.

His dark eyes turn and settle on the other's.

"She's kept all of them."

He remembers all of them.

The Erickson Beamon necklace when she was seventeen; and he marked the occasion in spectacular fashion by having sex with her on the eve of her birthday and again on the night.

The Harry Winston choker he graced her with on her eighteenth; the gift she was clearly hinting at him to buy when she included it on her annual birthday list, in the aftermath of the year that had passed and red-carpeted sidewalk of things to come.

The Fred Leighton bracelet for her nineteenth; the first year they'd ever been apart for her birthday, and the first time he'd ever used jewelry as an apology with the words _From Chuck, To Blair _suffocating whatever breath was left that separated them.

The charm bracelet he had designed specifically by Boodles for her twenty-first. His first year in Britain. It seemed fitting. He found the natives to place a larger stake on this 'coming-of-age' moment more than those in his _home _country. He sent her a charm to accompany it, naturally. A silver and diamond encrusted trinket of a house, with a ruby heart in the top window. It looked exactly like the Waldorf residence; the tiny red-gemmed _soul_ of the accessory peeking out from the exact place he'd given her his own all those years ago.

He sent her a charm from every place he went after that: town or city, country or continent. She never followed him: he never asked her to, _told_ her not to; but he left a trail, all the same.

_No.1 by Clive Christian _in the customized bottle.

The _Royal Diamond_ _Chess_ set.

The _Mont Blanc and Van Cleef & Arpels_ _Mystery Masterpiece_ in all three diamond encrusted shades offered.

The more extravagant the gift, the quicker he instructed it to be in her possession.

Except one.

The custom-made engagement ring he had commissioned and held in her name.

His eyes refocus and seem to fixate on the Fred Leighton bracelet sitting on the side table.

He breaks from his reverie as Eric's words find light in the fog; leading him home.

"That one was the worst," the younger recalls. "The first one."

Chuck doesn't meet his eyes: simply stares at the diamond; stone that could cut glass with a single swipe; rock that's as hard as his jaw grinding against his teeth, stopping him from calling out, growling, muttering under his breath; a precious find that forever silences him.

"_**No one ever enjoys their first."  
**_"_**Except you."**_

The words ring as loud as the Church bells: threatening to deafen him as completely as the light reflecting brilliantly from the clear-cut diamonds warns of blindness.

Of course, there's another reason he feels this way.

There's always another reason.

.

It's another function and they're all in attendance.

Eric's been dancing with Blair since the night began and he's felt his brother's eyes on their entwined forms the whole time.

The elder takes a step towards them as the younger leads them closer to his position; he'll meet him halfway because they both owe each other something in this stance.

He smiles easily at her when the shadow falls across them and she looks up at him with that uncertainty shading her beautiful mahogany eyes. They don't need words to be reassuring, supportive, anymore.

His brother's gaze is intense, always has been, but now it's like he's drinking in every inch of her. It's like he's trying to salvage what he can while he can, and it confuses him.

It's another reason why he's pushing them together faster than they'd likely get to it themselves in the circumstances.

There's a look in Chuck's eyes that tells him more than he'd like to see: like he's trying to savor each and every moment with them before he has to leave. He's just got his brother back, he doesn't plan on letting him go anytime soon; and yet there's that look, like it will never be a choice he will get to make.

It scares him to his core and puts him into overdrive, because they're his chance at happiness too.

He and Blair have been friends since they were too young to think it was present; but they're family now, which means they're also a team, a pair, a duo. It means she relies on him and he relies on her; and if she can't make herself happy, he will do it for her.

And what would make Blair Waldorf everlastingly happy is Chuck Bass.

If it is the last thing he does, he will make them realize this.

And so he steps away and offers her hand to his brother; the one who should have been standing where he is all along.

It doesn't surprise him that it makes him a little giddy to see that small smile light up her features before she sends him a scowl and his older version a glare. They're both half-hearted, he knows, because this is what she's wanted all along.

It's what he's wanted all along.

If Blair is happy, his world can stop spinning.

If Blair is happy, Chuck is home.

If Blair is happy, he has his brother back: his family together again.

And so his faith rests with this brunette held within the arms of another. And that's ok, because he knows at one time all of hers rested with him. He'll split it once more with the man who's leading her away from him; because it's what they both want, what they both need.

He doesn't mind playing instigator because he knows that some things in life are meant to work out; and he is a firm believer that the pair before him deserves to fall in that category.

If Blair is happy, he is happy.

.

"I love you," Chuck tells her simply.

There are no fireworks or grand displays, and he doesn't stumble or feel the clanging of broken chains; it's simple, and flowing, and long-over due.

She blinks, and he watches her catch herself; heels readjust on the floor, fingers clasp tighter to the champagne flute.

"Chuck," she breathes it out like a whisper of a prayer to the stars.

And he knows, just _knows_ what she is going to say. Even though her eyes are suddenly darker, and her hands have begun to shake. He knows, because it's what they do.

They dance.

And even after all this time, even after all they've said and done; they're still dancing. Yet another reason he'd taken that stiff drink, and was beginning to feel in need of another.

"It's been over nine years," she says, and the words seem heavy on her tongue as she takes her time to say them.

He nods and dips his head, acknowledgment, as he murmurs softly, "I know."

And then he meets her eyes, sincerity falling from his tongue as he tells her, "I just thought I owed you that much, at least."

He takes a step forward, and there's something of a smirk on his lips when he can pinpoint the exact moment she takes a breath in; how her eyes seem to grow larger and darker with anticipation.

"I love you Blair Waldorf," he says, with solid conviction. "Always have, always will."

His lips graze the exposed skin of her neck as he murmurs in her ear, "Nine years, three months, zero days."

And then he's gone.

.

Chuck leaves Blair with his prior words and those of times past ringing in her ears.

"_**In the face of true love, you don't just give up, even if the object of your affection is begging you to... "  
**_

"… _**The gift of a second chance… And one day, I hope I'll be lucky enough to find someone who will do the same for me."**_

"_**Three words, eight letters. Say it and I'm yours."**_

"_**Whatever you're going through, I want to be there for you… The worst thing you've ever done, the darkest thought you've ever had, I will stand by you through anything."**_

"_**And why would you do that?"**_

"_**Because, I love you."**_

"_**I love you… always have, always will… nine years, three months, zero days."**_

She drops her flute, barely noticing as it hits the floor like ice cracking beneath her, and her heels hiss like Medusa's snakes against the clear fragments as she scuttles quickly away before the cold liquid can douse her anymore.

It's easy to hurry past all the shocked looks and hushed whispers; she practically became immune to them years ago. Not so easy to escape his voice, his scent, his touch: not so easy to escape him.

She'd said those words nine years ago; she'd said those words, and he'd been hers.

Charles – Chuck – _Fucking _Bass_._

He'd said those words mere minutes ago; he'd said those words, and she'd been his.

He belongs to her; has done for over nine years, and probably a long time before that.

Except now she belongs to him, _officially_.

She isn't going to let him give up that easily.

.**  
**

Tremors plague Chuck's fingers as he rakes them through his hair, momentarily marveling at its length. He knows he should get it cut, but he's become used to having it long: cutting across his forehead, shagging over his eyes. And he dares not ruin such a good thing. He recognizes them more readily these days, and they're fewer and farther between than he'd have thought.

But they are present, and when they make themselves known to him; he tends to grow accustomed to having them around, holds them in higher regard than before, protects them from outside sources.

And that's the problem.

Sparing a long look at the image held in his grasp; cold to the touch, but raising a fire within him; he draws in a shaky breath, running a hand over his weary face.

And as he stands there in the darkness, that only the dead can relate to, he feels the tiredness wash over him like night into day.

He curses himself, because he knew this would happen. And what's more, he wanted it; still does, more than anything.

The grip of his fingertips slips and he drops the gilded frame; lets the glass shatter around her like the fairytale he destroyed all those years ago.

He turns his back on her, not for the first regretful time in his life, and stalks to the window, staring out at the city below.

Swears catch low in his throat and his dark eyes glare helplessly at the sun setting between the buildings, casting its shadow across everything in its path.

If he were one for metaphors and imagery, he'd say it portrayed his choices. Take the glimmer as their past and be grateful for what it was, that he has it at all to reflect on. Or cast himself open, catch her within his arms spread wide and glide further, together.

He lets his head fall against the window with a dull thud, before the throbbing hits the back of his eyes.

His knees buckle beneath him and his palms hit the floor on instinct. Yellow fades to orange, and then orange falls to red as he watches his city drown in crimson as her face swims before him, her beauty and essence embedding itself ever deeper in his veins. And his last thought is that this dance of theirs might just be killing him quicker than cancer ever could.

.

_If everything comes down to love  
__Then just what am I afraid of  
__When I call out your name  
__Something inside awakes in my soul  
__How quickly I forget I'm yours_

_I'm not my own  
__I've been carried by you  
__All my life_

_Everything rides on hope now  
__Everything rides on faith somehow  
__So when the world has broken me down  
__Your love sets me free_

_When my life is like a storm  
__Rising waters all I want is the shore  
__You say I'll be ok and  
__Make it through the rain  
__You are my shelter from the storm  
**'Hope Now' by Addison Road**_

.

TBC…

* * *

If anyone's confused, the order goes as follows: Chuck – Eric – Chuck – Blair – Chuck

I'll try have the next part up as soon as I can, but it won't be till at east the end of next week because I'm away up North till then :)

Thanks so much for reading and reviewing – please let me know what you think, it means a lot!  
Steph  
xxx


	6. Where Nobody Knows

A/N: title from the Kings of Leon song.

Hope you like…

* * *

Chapter Five: Where Nobody Knows

"_My home is not a place, it is people.__"  
**Lois McMaster Bujold**_

.

Blair is standing just outside the doorway, poised to go in; but something stops her.

It's not the brunette by his side chatting away to him with natural ease; or even the giant rock that twinkles as bright as the night sky as a tremor runs through their entwined fingers and causes the light to catch it just right.

It's the complete look of adoration in the woman's eyes.

She turns to walk away; but something stops her.

Her eyes drag from the broad expanse of his chest to his face; she already knows who it is.

"I suppose you're going to tell me it doesn't mean anything," she says, eyes glistening in the dim light.

"Actually," he replies, his eyes looking past her to the man who professed his love for her ten years after she did him and the woman who is but a stranger to her. "It means everything."

.

His brother pays extremely well, but Eric has connections. Not to mention a certain charm. His sister has it in a different form, all sunshine and bubbly life-form encased in a need to reign positive as supreme; his brother too, manipulation and power that covers beneath knowledge and fascination all too easily.

Eric has a way with people. He can read them, and play them; but he can also show them a different path, he can provide a means of redemption, of escape.

He supposes all three van der Basses share that trait; only his doesn't necessarily revolve around sex and his own appeal in the matter.

He pulls attributes from his siblings and blends them with his own to create a unique mix that never seem to fail in winning round an opponent. Life gave him the experiences; but it was his family that taught him survival.

He intends to use everything he has to achieve his goal: which, due to a certain phone call from a certain highly skilled and extremely private doctor, is currently to find out exactly why his brother returned to New York.

And so help the elder if it was just to die here.

.

"It means something," he reiterates. "Everything."

Blair has yet to say another word.

And then he turns to meet her eyes, "Just not what you think."

She's already walking away when Lachlan speaks again.

"He saved her life. She owes him everything," he tells her. "_I _owe him everything."

That last line stops her in her tracks. She turns slowly and he's already taken two steps towards her.

"She's your wife," she surmises, catching the look in his eyes.

He chuckles, and shakes his head. "Sister," he corrects.

She merely nods.

"Walk with me," he says then, and she finds herself complying after a few moments of pondering and eyeing him up severely.

She wonders how Chuck hadn't heard her or noticed her presence; it unnerves her slightly to think he might not even realize she's there, because he has always been able to sense her. Rolling her shoulders she tries to physically shake of the thought; she's enraptured by this sudden turn of events and this offer from the man before her. She tells herself Chuck must simply be feeling the same way about the woman before him; she ignores the fact that she can still smell him all around her, and her scent must be noticeable. She doesn't need to dwell on such things.

"He was a recluse when he came to the island," he informs her, breaking her from her thoughts, and there's a smile playing across his lips as he does so. "Hardly ever ventured outwith his own little land."

He releases a small chuckle then.

"And then there was an accident," Lachlan sobers, his voice changing completely. "And this man, this man I didn't even know, approached me and offered his help in finding my sister."

There is something close to sheer disbelief in his voice, and he turns to meet her eyes.

"When we finally found her, he told me the helicopter was standing by to take her to the mainland," his eyes are so clear, almost glassy, as he relays this to her.

She's struck dumb once again; it's not a habit she particularly enjoys, and yet it's somehow fitting in his presence, under the circumstances.

"My first encounter with him and he shows not only unadulterated kindness, but I later found out, extreme selflessness as well," he says, and then a wry smile crosses his lips as he adds, "Though he'd deny it completely, of course."

She finds the corner of her lips twisting with those words; she can believe that.

"I don't listen to the stories, Miss Waldorf, because I can't," he tells her then.

She bites her lip, stops herself from divulging that once-upon-a-time she had to force herself to do the same thing.

"I know he is a ruthless businessman, and I know he has done many things in his life that he deeply regrets," he informs her. "But I cannot see past that stranger who saved my sister's life without asking for a thing in return; who risked his own life, his own future, for hers."

She looks up when he stops and then she does so as well, realizing they have come full circle.

"He came back to New York for a reason, Miss Waldorf," he is voicing what she already knows; but she doesn't ignore the words.

"It's his home," she manages to utter; her throat too dry, her lips feeling cracked.

"It's _your_ home," he corrects.

His stare is all the more intense and he makes sure to wait until she has met his eyes fully before he turns and leaves her standing outside the door where her true love lies dying.

.

"The doctor said you're refusing treatment," is the first thing Eric says to Chuck when he enters the room. His own room: in his own apartment.

There are only two other persons besides him who have a key; and he knows for a fact Eric couldn't have sweet-talked his assistant into giving him it. The gay doorman is going to be fired; he should have replaced him with the stern old bastard he originally wanted, at least _he_ wouldn't have been won over by the younger man's "sweet, charming nature."

"That's right," he replies; and has the good grace not to ask the younger why in God's name he thinks it's any of his business to grill him about such a thing, and what in the Hell he cares anyway.

His 'brother' as the younger man still, repeatedly, refers to himself as, has dyed his hair since his… departure. It's so dark Chuck thinks he must have had it that shade for years. So dark it matches the color of the eyes staring back at him perfectly.

"God, Chuck! You know what I've been through! You know what I did! You saw what it did to our family, our friends!" Eric suddenly shouts: because he's so mad, really and truly mad and anyone would be able to see it.

All Chuck sees is red: an endless sea of red.

He doesn't understand.

"And you think that'll be a good idea? You think suicide is the best way out, do you?" the younger's still yelling, still angry.

But it's ok, because Chuck's angry too.

He still doesn't understand, though. None of them do.

"Are you trying to punish us? Is that it?" Eric demands of him then, face splintering in fury. "You don't think we tried hard enough to find you? To bring you back?"

"You think we _deserve_ to watch you die? Is that it? You think _she _deserves to watch you die? You think _she_ deserves to be punished like this?"

"That's not what I'm doing!" he screams back, before he can control himself to lower his voice.

But he doesn't care. _Chuck doesn't care._

"You _know_ I never want to hurt her."

Eric's eyes flash wide and his mouth falls open, because there's such vindication in _both_ of those statements, such belief.

He doesn't understand.

So, Chuck finishes what he started, and educates his little brother: "It's not suicide if the alternative won't save you."

.

Blair's breath catches like a moth in the cage of her lungs.

He was supposed to be happy: in his far off land, where no one could reach him or bother him; where only those he wanted to admit could enter and please him and shower him with gifts and compliments and give him everything he wanted from life.

He was supposed to show her what she was missing; supposed to portray what a wonderful life he had with swiping remarks and scathing comments that slowly killed her from the inside out.

He was _supposed_ to be happy.

He wasn't supposed to return to them, broken and bleeding; lie dying at their feet while he pretended to simply be looking up at the stars with a better view as they sat back and watched it all unfold unable to do anything until it was too very late.

She turns and wanders blindly back along the corridor, aware of nothing, feeling nothing.

She thinks this is what it must feel like to be numb. Physically and mentally numb.

She doesn't even realize that the elevator's not moving until she feels the cool material of Eric's shirt-ed arms slip around her and pull him towards her body. She allows herself to be swallowed up by him, for him to engulf her in his arms, hold her against his chest and shush her. Without realizing it she'd been quietly whimpering as she wandered the corridors of her ex-lover's hotel.

When she's calmed herself, they stand together and he reaches over with his free hand and presses the button that will take them to lower ground; his other fingers wrapped tightly around her own.

They walk out of his brother's hotel like that, hand in hand.

When she steps into the awaiting vehicle, he glances skyward with her and shares in the moment as they both look up at the world they hardly know, and maybe never will.

Chuck Bass still lives there, but he's fading every day; they wonder if they'll recognise him next time their paths cross.

Predictions are made, alongside hope. But hopes and dreams have a way of shattering around them, and this boy, this man, has a habit of taking center stage.

It doesn't appear as if this time will be any different. He's trying to skirt along the sidelines, trying to hide in the pulpit while they scout him out with their Opera glasses held firmly in hand; but everything they are revolves around him. They don't seem to know any other way.

And, as it happens, neither does he.

.

Blair is asleep, finally, but Eric's wide-awake. It's not because of his position in the high-backed chair sited close enough to her bed that he might as well be using it as a side-table instead of his own place of rest, more because his own thoughts have yet to cease.

They haven't spoken of Chuck and what he knows she must've overheard. She hasn't asked him what he knows, demanded answers or otherwise. In fact, she hasn't said a single word other than to utter a soft _"Thank you"_ against his cheek as she pressed a cheek into his skin and he tried to swallow the huge rising lump in his throat.

It worries him more and more with each breath she takes; they're not regular. The hitches and pained expression tell him more than he needs to have confirmed. She is not handling this well; and he sees no end in sight.

He's heard the prognosis, seen the results, studied the subject personally. He knows his brother will not survive this, even if there is fight enough in him to try. It is not what the cards have set out for him. Not what any God in Heaven or in Hell has planned by way of his future.

His brother is dying. It's taken them nearly ten years to get him back, and he's not even been fully returned; and yet he's already leaving them. Except he hasn't been with them for a long time: the charts show it, the findings confirm it.

They've been left to embrace a walking corpse.

He's been a ghost living in the tailwind of their imagination for years and now he's here, it's as if he was actually with them all along; because looking at the elder, Eric can see him vanishing before his very eyes, ever further into the distant memories of his mind.

He can see his brother dying in front of him, and there's nothing he can do to stop it.

The worst part of it is; it's taken Chuck years to reach this stage, and he's been doing it alone.

They've all been living in their own personal Hell, and though he thinks to have had the elder back before might have been better all round, he also thinks it might have been worse.

They're barely healing, this is true; but to break an already cracking masterpiece is to create a shattered aftermath.

When he sees Blair crumbling, he won't hold his arms out to her; his place has been filled in a way he will never rise to be. And that's ok, because this is the way it's supposed to be; the way Eric wants it to be.

He will make sure they fit seamlessly together because he is the glue that will enable them to do so; that will ensure they cannot be broken apart again.

If they break, they break as one; they'll heal as one in a way no others could, and they'll survive because of it.

His brother may not live to see his forties; more likely even his thirties, but he will survive in a way few ever have the chance to do.

Chuck Bass will be tied to Blair Waldorf in body and spirit; and his brother will never let that be forgotten or replaced.

Eric is tied to the legacy in so many ways he fears he'll break all too easily if he is to fail in this now. He won't, of course.

He's been waiting nearly ten years for this moment.

The moment his family is returned to him.

.

When Chuck falls asleep, it is never dark, and he is never tired. So he finds himself imagining how he got to this place.

He doesn't count sheep; he calculates the days.

He doesn't pray; he barters with God.

He makes a list of the things he's taken for granted, because he's always thought he would have access to them:

The scent of a fine tumbler of his finest 60-year-old single malt; followed by the alluring taste.

The delicious arrangement of foie gras as it settles on his tongue.

The perfect clarity of the New York Philharmonic ringing in his ears.

The clear vision of the Knicks or Rangers in his sights.

A child's laugh; like chimes in the wind.

A butterfly's tango.

Pitch dark. Utter quiet.

Her.

.

It takes Blair three days to finally pull herself together enough to leave the apartment. And when she does, she finds the black limo sitting outside her building in the same place it's been holding watch since she first stepped through those doors and refused to leave.

Lachlan steps out and wordlessly holds the back door open for her to enter, slipping in next to her a moment later.

He looks to her, and she says, quite clearly, "Take me to him."

And he does.

.

"Give me a child, Chuck."

It is her who is begging now.

"Give me a little boy with your eyes and your smirk. A little boy who'll look just like his Daddy; who'll act just like him too."

Blair continues to plead.

"I need a child, Chuck," she reveals; more heartbreak in that single statement than if tears were to fall from her eyes. "I need a son. Your son."

She's yet to tell him _I love you_; but she said it first and it took him nearly ten years to say it back. And this is as much an admission as any, if not more.

"A little girl would be just as good," he whispers against her skin. "Better even."

"No," she counters. "No, Chuck, I need a boy. I need someone who'll remind me completely of you."

"You'd be surprised at what you need," is all he says to this.

"Do this for me, Chuck," she says.

He stays silent, but that isn't a refusal.

"Give me a child, Chuck; give me a baby boy," she whispers feverishly against his lips.

"You could never forget me, Waldorf; we're inevitable, always have been."

She's looking up at him with pleading eyes, and he's never been one to deny her anything; not really. And so he relents.

"But if you need a child to remind you of that then I'll give you a child. I'll give you a hundred goddamn children."

"Just one, that's all I need," she bites out.

There's a hint of a smile on her lips that she swears is reflected in his.

"Those eyes, that mouth."

She trails a finger down his temple, till her thumb trembles over his lips.

"Make me a mother, Chuck," she appeals to his inner senses; and that's all he needs.

It's all either of them need.

.

_"I thought that time was on our side  
I've put in far too many years  
To let this pass us by  
You see life is a crazy thing  
There'll be good times and there'll be bad times  
And everything in between  
And I don't know which way it's gonna go_

_If it's gonna be a rainy day_  
_There's nothing we can do to make it change_  
_We can pray for sunny weather_  
_But that won't stop the rain_  
_Feeling like you got no place to run_  
_I can be your shelter 'til it's done_  
_We can make this last forever_  
_So please don't stop the rain_

_(Let it fall, let it fall, let it fall)_  
_Please don't stop the rain_  
_(Let it fall, let it fall, let it fall)_  
_Please don't stop the rain_

_Oh we're a little closer now_  
_In finding what life's all about_  
_Yeah I know you just can't stand it_  
_If things don't go your way_  
_But we've got no control over what happens anyway_

_If it's gonna be a rainy day_  
_There's nothing we can do to make it change_  
_We can pray for sunny weather_  
_But that won't stop the rain_  
_Feeling like you got no place to run_  
_I can be your shelter 'til it's done_  
_We can make this last forever."  
_'_**Please Don't Stop The Rain', James Morrison**_

.

TBC…

* * *

A/N: order as follows: Blair – Eric – Blair – Chuck – Blair – Eric – Chuck – Blair – Blair

Some of the Blair part after she overhears Eric and Chuck is inspired by a small section in 'My Best Friend's Girl'  
The Chuck part where he's listing the things is adapted and inspired by a small section in 'Vanishing Acts'

In case anyone thought the ending jumped really quickly, I'll just say that Blair is pretty all over the place 'feeling'-wise just now, but it will lead onto the next chapter and hopefully it won't seem too OOC given what's come before and what will be shown in the next.

Thanks so much for reading – please let me know what you think, it means a lot!  
Steph  
xxx


	7. Never Forget You

A/N: Chapter title from the Noisettes's song of the same name

* * *

Chapter Six: Never Forget You

_"If I am pressed to say why I loved him, I feel it can only be explained by replying: 'Because it was he; because it was me.'"  
**Michel de Montaigne**_

.

It used to be times like these that Chuck wondered why he did it.

He was dying anyway, he used to reason; why not at least enjoy the time he had left?

_Because you'll only kill yourself quicker_, the little voice in his head never ceased reminding him.

He would scoffed at this, because what did he really have to live for anyway?

Exhaustion crippled him, sleep had become a nostalgia; everything he did seemed perpetual, day morphed into night and vice versa, and yet he knew it would all come to an all too abrupt end very, very soon. His nerve endings seemed to be losing sensation yet his mind was a raging fire.

The thoughts that bounced from corner to corner, dragged from the deepest recesses of his mind, lingered in the forefront and influenced everything he said and did.

They all revolved around her.

So when his heart had continued to beat the sound of her name, all those thousands of miles away, he found that he'd already boarded a plane to New York.

He went home.

He went to her.

He can't look back; because everything he wants is everything he has.

He could live forever in the echoes of her love.

.

The limo's been stationed outside her apartment now for more than a week.

Blair doubts it's actually him inside; something as tedious as watching shadows steal the light seems sort of _beneath_ the CEO of one of the world's biggest conglomerates. Then again, it's always been sort of their trademark. Still, though, things have changed.

And her naivety reminds her that once is likely enough for either of them.

Her suspicions are confirmed when on the last day, as she exits her apartment building, the door opens to reveal a tall man with

She knows he's probably told him that she knows; recognizes that the man's loyalty would be to the one he works for and apparently has done for some time, rather than to her.

"He's worried about you," Lachlan says by way of greeting; explanation for his prolonged stakeout, once again.

"Yes," she chokes out. "As your presence so clearly states."

"He can't be here."

"I know, I know. Rich, rich man, busy schedule, never-ending work. I know," she sighs into her hand as she raises it to cover her mouth.

"It's not like that," he refutes.

"It's not?" she raises an eyebrow, scoffs openly now.

"It's – He can't – "

He's searching for the right words; the correct way to explain; the approach that will make everything alright.

"Nothing comes of nothing," he tells her then.

She knows this.

And what they are; what has transpired between them, both then and now; none of it could ever be described as _nothing._

"If he could be here, he would. You know that," he breathes out finally. "You know him."

She dips her head and nods; feels his arms wrap around her.

"You're his everything," he murmurs into her temple, and presses a chaste kiss against the skin there.

It is a reminder.

A simple memento with such weighted feelings prompting its existence.

Tears come to her eyes. Surprised, she tells herself that it is the day, the heat, the lack of sleep.

"So much has happened," she says quietly. "So many people hurt."

She is thinking of people like Eric, like Lily, like the family and friends torn apart; yet Chuck's features come swimming up to the surface.

"This wasn't supposed to be about me, and somehow, it got that way."

"People work too hard to figure out the meaning of their lives. Why _me_, why _now_. The truth is, sometimes things don't happen to you for a reason. Sometimes it's just about being in the right place at the right time for someone _else_."

"That's it?' she says.

"That's quite a lot." He turns and smiles.

"Take me to him," the plea falls helplessly from her lips, so unlike the last time she uttered those words, and he holds out his hand for her to take as he simply nods; and does just that.

.

Chuck senses her; before the click of her heels or the waft of her perfume, before the scrape of furniture and the breeze that flows through the open doorway; he senses her. He opens his eyes.

In the seat beside him, a petite female with owl-like brown eyes stares at him. Her dark hair is pulled back into a bun, and he decides he doesn't like it. It's too severe; too _Eleanor_.

And they are _nothing_ like their parents. He, at least, has made sure of that.

"Boo," he says by way of greeting.

His smirk falters when he hears the croak that's overtaken his voice and he frowns slightly.

"Boo to you too," she returns, her face solemn.

He shifts and moves to sit up; sets fire to the notion of 'help' with a scorching glare to his left.

"It's not polite to watch people sleep, you know," he tries to sound casual, but knows he's failed when he catches the look in her eyes.

"You were mumbling," she tells him, and he can see she's trying to gauge his reaction.

He doesn't bite.

"Swell," he yawns and tries to stretch out his cramped legs.

A few moments pass and he tells himself the chill he feels sweeping across his skin is usual of anyone having just awoken, and not because of her presence so close, or… _anything else_.

"Were you ever going to tell me?"

Her eyes are dark on his, and he catches sight of her hands: lying flat against the fabric of her skirt, ruffling the material, the tremors running through her digits almost as present as those coursing through his own. This is one comparison in them that he doesn't approve of.

"Were you ever going to ask me?" he counters: blinks slowly and meets her eyes once more.

"It's the reason for your return, isn't it?" she says instead, "Why you came back."

He tilts his head to the side, studying her, considering this.

A step forward and she's almost right next to him.

"Why ask questions when you already hold all the answers?" he counters, taking a breath in and readjusting himself against the backing of pillows that serve to prop him up.

"I don't know all the answers," she refutes. "I don't know anything."

His gaze is penetrating through her own; so intense she doesn't even think to look away, doesn't think she could.

"You know I'm dying," he tells her then. "You know I came back here for you."

"You love me," her voice shakes; words tumbling from her lips as she speaks.

His lips curve at the edges and there's stark vulnerability like he's never seen before in her eyes.

"That's all you'll ever need to know," he tells her; and he means it.

Because how can death ever be expected to tear them apart when they have survived a separation of their own making?

How can anything else matter in this world when nearly ten years later, it's like they were never apart?

How can anything ever come close to destroying what they are, what they've become, when their love still exists to keep them whole?

.

When Blair arrives home, she heads straight for her bedroom and shuts the door immediately behind her. She sits at her vanity and looks in the mirror: studies herself, tries to find something, some telltale sign that will tell her who she is, what she has become, what she will be.

With or without him.

And the whole time, she keeps her mouth shut. Not because the years have hardened her so, but because she is afraid that if she opens it she will start to cry, and not remember how to stop.

Her hand is raised to cover her lips, a precaution, and the other rests on her stomach: the beginning of a love she is determined will be.

.

"Tell me about your life there," Eric requests as he stands in the doorway to his brother's bedroom.

The elder moves his attention form the world outside to the family within, and slowly quirks an eyebrow, one corner of his lips curving up. "What would you like to know?"

"Anything," he replies easily. "Everything."

"Come, sit," is what Chuck says to that.

He moves to do just that while registering his brother making the barest of movements to lift a hand and press his remote; they're soon bathed in near-darkness, while the sun retreats ever further behind the buildings that lie just beyond their touch, but never their sight.

He takes a seat on the end of the bed, ignoring the armchair by the bedside table, because it'd take the other less effort to look straight on than to have to turn and crane his neck round to face him. It's a considerate action, however small, and he knows his brother is aware of his intention even if he doesn't say anything. It's in the way Chuck's eyes follow him as he takes each step; his brother always expresses himself by the way he looks at another.

The elder pushes himself up till his upper body is against the headboard, supported by the build-up of pillows, and Eric makes no move to help him in the endeavour. Pride is something he knows his brother will never lose.

"Why do you want to know about it so badly?" the older male asks him, releasing a breath and squinting at him through the light that peeks through the drawn across curtains.

"Because you lived there," Eric answers; the truth will always win out. "Because it mattered to you, and I wasn't there to experience it with you."

He shrugs, because he doesn't see how it could _not_ be important.

"Because you're my brother and it's a part of who you are, and I want to feel like I know you again."

Something in his words seem to strike within his brother's very being, because he looks pained as he turns his gaze away and begins to stare out the window again. He doesn't comment on the lack of view available, or the fact his brother's eyes have reduced to near slits.

He's riveted by the action, by the words that come out a near whisper soon after.

"I honestly don't remember," the clear openness in that one statement, the admission of how deep this truly runs, how long it's been going on, interfering, affecting; shakes Eric to his core.

He opens his mouth to speak, and then shuts it again.

"I do remember it was peaceful though," Chuck's voice is like a whisper in the wind.

He chuckles suddenly, and the noise awakens something in Eric he thought he'd lost years ago.

"Cars are a rarity, only permitted to island-dwellers," he divulges. "My helicopter didn't go down too well."

The elder turns to look at him then and Eric can make out the laughter lines despite the tiredness that seems to be threatening to consume his brother's features.

And then times passes over them like it is nothing; as he sits by his brother and listens to him recall what he can of the life he has led without them. Listens as he admits that the sea air, the freshness of living, it really did do him well. Listens as he tells him of the acceptance he received, the solitude they allowed him; the comfort they provided the elder is undeniable.

He doesn't remember full events; bare snippets of time are all he has. But he offers them to the younger because he asked, because they are all he has to give. And Eric accepts them wholeheartedly; because this is his brother, and he would give anything to have the time back that they lost, and this is the closest he thinks they will ever get.

"But there was always something missing."

Chuck sounds almost melancholy now as he speaks, like he's been drowning in his memories for too long.

"New York," his brother says. "It's where my life is."

Eric's own throat feels like it's swelled shut with the torrent of emotion he's come to share with his brother; what could he possibly say?

"It's where she is," the elder continues. "Where you are."

His mouth creases out an easy smile that Eric thinks he could look at every day and never grow tired of the sight, especially when the words that accompany it are as such.

"I've missed you, little brother."

The drowsiness takes full effect then and his eyes slide shut for the last time, his breathing evening out almost instantly.

Eric drinks in the sight. His brother looks so at ease; his face relaxed, the essence of a smile still imprinted on his lips, stretching across his skin, until the cracks in his features are nothing but the marks of a life lived well, lived happily; remembered.

"Welcome home, Chuck," he whispers into the dark space that holds them, and with a last look over his brother's sleeping form, he exits the room.

.

"What is this?" Chuck asks, surveying the gathered crowd.

"Shhh," she quiets him. "Let him say his piece."

And so he allows her to direct him to their awaiting seats in the round table in the center of the rooftop.

When words echo across the night sky, his jaw tightens and he lifts a hand to lazily summon a nearby waiter.

Blair gives him a look, and asks simply, "Must you?"

Eric's voice resounds around them, envelops them together in this open space: _"I'm here tonight, before you all, to talk about a very important man."_

He raises his eyebrows at her, and she says nothing further as he instructs the man to bring him a Scotch.

"_A man who many of you might feel you are already familiar with. You've heard the stories, seen the pictures; many of you have even had encounters with him personally._

_But I am here to tell you that these conceptions you have of him are wrong. I am here to tell you about a man who… "_

His eyes bore into hers, and he catches onto the slight upward tug of her lips. He makes a point to tell the waiter to "make it a large one", and settles back in his seat triumphantly when she stiffens slightly beside him. Maybe he had said it a little louder than necessary: oh well, his hearing _is_ beginning to go somewhat, after all.

"… _Many of you knew him by reputation in his youth. Wayward, as it was. This, this is an undisputed fact."_

He sends her a look, and she sighs, relenting, and he raises his lips to the glass with a small smirk tugging at his lips. It's been too long. Wayward youth indeed, he prefers the term: **experimental**_._

"_But as you look around you, now, what do you see?_

_I see hospitals and schools and libraries and parks. I see building after building. I see the people within these walls and running free in this space. I see the families and the individuals; all the lives that have benefited from various enterprises._

_I see New York. _

_And I see Chuck Bass standing watch over it all."_

.

Eric tries not to see the blood draining from his brother's face. Tries not to hear his breath hitch almost painfully; no, definitely painfully, he thinks. Tries not to notice when the elder visibly flinches under the sudden influx of light as they make their way inside. Tries not to feel the sinking ache in his stomach when he sees the concern flush across his brother's aide's face as he catches Chuck's step faltering that brief second.

The elder doesn't mutter an excuse or even attempt to give an explanation. Instead he steels his jaw, and with his brow drawn he stalks onward as if nothing is amiss. And Eric doesn't make comment on the slow pace or the lethargic hold that he knows is overriding the elder's body, because his brother is dying and the knowledge is bad enough without trying to seek out the reality at every turn.

.

In his dream, he has been hiding. The floor glitters; it is covered with diamonds that he knows are shards of broken glass. There are smashed plates on the floor; the cabinets are wide open, with nothing left inside.

There's screaming, as clear and penetrating as the shattering of windowpanes; he can't see the rest of the world anymore.

Chuck can hear it, even after his hands are pressed tight over his ears. It sounds like the inside of a drum, like the dragon that's really his breathing, like the hard knot of tears in his throat that keeps him from swallowing.

He looks down and sees their faces staring back at him; the image of a time past; the picture of a family, in the truest sense.

There's blonde hair and brown, all of different shades. There's eyes the colour of the ocean, of the rolling emerald hills, so dark they could have you entranced with a single glance. And there's lips folded effortlessly into smiles: wide, Cheshire-like; save for two, hidden, like a secret only they know.

The diamonds that surround them glisten like rubies and his creased brow meets him in the mirror: his eyes fly open and he lets loose a scream only he can hear; because the face staring back at him is his own, but his hands are stained red.

_God, forgive me. I never meant to destroy the people I loved._

.

Blair is running as fast as she can in her five-inch heels and she's toppling sideways; wondering how she ever managed to stay upright when her world's been tilting on its axis ever since he left.

She's desperate, so desperate. And the heels have gone, skidding across the marble floor some time between the twisted ankle that twinges in the back of her senses with every pound of her sole on the cold floor, and the slap of her palm on the elevator button.

She breathes out his name like a sacred prayer; it's the only thing she'll ever ask for again in this world.

_I'm sorry,_ he tells her; eyes grieving for her loss, _he's gone._

.

_"Oh my god  
oh you think I'm in control  
Oh my god  
oh you think it's all for fun_

_Put a price_  
_put a price on her soul_

_Find a cure_  
_find a cure for my life_

_Put a price_  
_put a price on my soul."  
_'_**Oh My God', Ida Maria**_

.

TBC…

* * *

A/N: The 'exhaustion… fire' part in the first section is inspired by the quote by Greg Evans.  
A couple of the lines of dialogue in the second Chuck part are loosely inspired by a small section in 'The Butterfly House'

Order goes: Chuck – Blair – Chuck – Blair – Eric – Chuck – Eric – Chuck – Blair

Thanks for reading – please let me know what you think!  
Steph  
xxx


	8. To Lose My Life

A/N: Chapter title from the White Lies's song of the same name – it fits quite well with this too

* * *

Chapter Seven: To Lose My Life

"_And I was on shaky land  
Lost and unsure I opened my hand  
And she held it like sinking sand_

_And all, all, all of my light is for you_  
_And home, home's anywhere you are too_  
_So take this one fallen man on his knees_  
_Saying please_

_All, all, all of my light is for you_  
_And home, home's anywhere you are too_  
_So take this one fallen man on his knees_  
_Saying please forgive me_  
_Forgive me_  
_Forgive me."  
_'_**Forgive Me', Missy Higgins**_

.

He's gone.

He's gone.

_He's gone._

The words ring in Blair's ears and she can hardly think straight and she can hardly put one foot in front of the other and she can hardly see past each step she takes and she can hardly hear anything but the resounding echo of those two critical words.

She's outside the building now; she's not sure how, but the night air prickles at her skin and the cool wind swirls around her like she's a tornado building up to rip the world to shreds.

Her fingers find her phone, grasp around it tightly and she dials his number as the tears stream down her cheeks. His voice fills her ears until that's all she can hear, and all she can concentrate on is his words; and she's never felt more grateful than in that moment, because Eric will never leave her. And Eric will always be there for her, and Eric will save her.

And if she can't have Chuck, then she needs Eric. The only other one who's always been there; who will understand, will share her pain. The only other one who can relate; who will grieve for a lost love like her own, a love that defies all logic and reason, but was so innately _him._

.

Eric picks up on the first ring and hears what used to be the familiar sound of Blair's sobs playing through his earpiece. It worries him to his very core, because she hasn't been like this in so long. And it was so very bad when she was.

Her name feels like a mantra as he repeats it over and over, until something finally seems to penetrate and her small voice replies with his name; like a question, like she's so unsure of everything in this world that she doubts even his own presence.

It hits him then like it's been drummed into him for over a decade, and somehow she manages to tell him where she is and actually respond when he tells her to stay put and he'll be right there to get her. There's a male voice calling after her when he hangs up, and he puts face to it when he pulls up to the curbside where she stands and finds the man desperately trying to gain the poor unresponsive woman's attention.

He wraps his coat around her shoulders and leads her to the awaiting vehicle, and when she's settled, he turns back to the man. Apologies and concern go hand-in-hand and the other explains how the brunette ran at his words, never looked back or listened as he tried to stop her, tried to turn back the clock and explain that there was more to the situation than just leaving.

He takes the man's advice and only hopes it will take them all where they need to go, as he directs the driver to his companion's home.

She's still nestled into his embrace when they enter the foyer and the maid rushes out to attend to them. She doesn't thank him, though he knows she wants to; she doesn't need to. When she wraps her arms around his neck and presses her cheek against his, however, he knows.

She gives him all she can, just like he does her.

Then she turns and makes her way up the winding staircase to her room. He speaks quietly to the woman who has watched over her since before he even knew her, and her reassurance speaks volumes of what will transpire in his absence.

He knows he's done all he can.

.

Blair enters her bedroom to find him sitting on the opposite side of the bed, back to her. And when she asks what he's doing there, he turns to her. She takes him all in: the rumpled clothes, the ragged hair, the bloodshot eyes; and suddenly its reminiscent of their senior year, right after his father died, right before he left her, again.

She's by his side before her heart has even beat one step further and he's in her arms. He reaches up to wrap his fingers round her wrist and he's leaning into her. And then their arms are tangled and their legs entwined and she draws him nearer as she pulls him down onto the comforter alongside her.

She's about to ask what's happened, what's changed; when he dips his head into the crook of her neck and buries himself in her embrace, fingers grasping and breath hitching.

So, instead, she curls her leg around his and clasps her hands together and pulls him ever closer into her.

"_Fix me."_

He pleads against her skin, and she holds him tighter.

He's begging, and it disturbs her.

Because Chuck Bass should never beg, never. He bows to no one, because no one can ever have that sort of hold over him. He is above it all; always has been.

Nothing could ever touch him.

Except her.

And so she strengthens their lovers' embrace and watches over him until he finally falls asleep, whispering her love for him over and over until she is sure it has made its way into his heart.

And she continues to hold him.

She doesn't let go.

Even when the ragged breaths have deteriorated into wisps of hot air on her skin.

Even when his trembling limbs have stilled and thread evenly through her own.

Even when his grappling hands and tense muscles have slackened and his palms run soft across her back.

She won't ever let go.

Because this is where he wants to be.

This is home.

.

Blair calls him as dawn breaks, doesn't say anything of the time because she knows he'll have been lying awake all night; they've been mirroring actions for years now. They can't help it; most of their thoughts tend to revolve around the same person.

"It's going to be okay."

Her breathy voice is like an angel's waxy lyrical.

"He's here, and he's safe, and it's going to be okay," she whispers.

Eric's cheeks are wet as the tears roll onto her lips and mingle with her words to make them all the more potent to his ears.

"He's home."

They've broken out into simultaneous smiles at the thought.

"He's home."

And they bask in the realization for what seems like an eternity; hearts surging, gaze clear.

Life is good.

_Life _is theirs.

And it will all be okay, because he is there and he is safe and he is _home_.

A decade has passed and they've each been stolen from the brink of death; it doesn't matter when it comes to them now.

This will live on forever.

.

"I'm pregnant," Blair murmurs against his lips.

His hands are in hers, their fingers entwined.

"Happy birthday," she whispers next, her smile imprinting over his.

His eyes dance over her stomach; wonder and amazement spreading across his face as his palms hover over her glowing skin, and then his gaze moves up to meet hers. She nods and her face brightens as his eyes light up.

He flashes her one of his rare smiles, and it's like the sun coming out.

This is true love, she thinks.

And she takes in the curve of his lips, the crease of his eyes.

But her gaze is possessed by the pale of his skin, the purple hue across his cheekbones, the slack of his jaw.

And her heart fails.

.

"I'll still be with you," Chuck says, and his arms envelop her from behind, coming to rest on her stomach: because he knows exactly what she's thinking as soon as the thought enters her mind.

He burrows into the crook of her neck, inhales her scent, and allows a lazy smile to imprint itself on her skin.

She turns in his embrace and one hand rests on his heart, the other on their child's.

"Both of you," his pledge dances across her skin and wraps them in his tight embrace.

She bites the inside of her mouth, and falls further into his arms; he can feel the heaviness of her tears as they fall on his skin.

Her eyes flutter as he kisses a promise onto her lips.

.

This is true love. It's not something that happens everyday.

And death cannot stop true love.

.

This is safe.

This is her.

This is him.

This is them.

This is home.

.

"_Where we love is home,  
Home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts."  
_**Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr., 'Homesick in Heaven'**

.

TBC… Epilogue to follow

* * *

A/N: Order goes as follows: Blair – Eric – Blair – Eric – Blair - Chuck

Thanks for reading, please let me know what you thought!  
Steph  
xxx


	9. Epilogue: Always Have, Always Will

Epilogue: Always Have, Always Will

"_A rose must remain with the sun and the rain, or its lovely promise won't come true. To each his own, to each his own, and my own is you."  
**The Platters, To Each His Own**_

.

"I took them to the park today," she starts, smiling as the words spill easily from her lips.

She recounts the day's events in vivid detail, makes sure she doesn't miss anything out; paints him the most magical of tales involving a Queen, her Princess and their Knight in Shining Armour – well, almost.

Her dainty hand reaches up and presses against her throat. Her fingertips run over the cool gems beneath: the diamonds, the ruby red heart center. It's called the _Heart of the Kingdom._ She only wears it on _very_ 'special occasions', but when she does she wears it proudly. Because she _is_ the heart of the kingdom, the soul of the empire.

She _is_ everything he ever dreamed of and more.

She _is_ the proudest achievement, the greatest triumph.

A smile tugs at her lips, as she clears her throat and announces, "I have something special for you."

And then she begins.

"_Dear butterfly,  
Majestic monarch of the sky,  
holder of universal secrets and reasons why,  
color my canvas, touch my heart before I die,  
to live in joy, teach me how never to say good-bye._

_As you flutter by, you hear me sigh,_  
_things missed because I forgot to try,_  
_on your serene beauty I can rely,_  
_oh what celestial magic you do supply._

_Once you did struggle to be free,_  
_you turned your life around to show me,_  
_amazing my angel how you heard my plea,_  
_you've cocooned my mind so I can see._

_Lets fly together both as one,_  
_and sore beyond time, once upon,_  
_our silken wings God has spun,_  
_Souls entwined, our infinite journey has just begun."_

She's breathless by the end, but her smile is brighter than ever and her eyes sparkle in the sunlight.

She could never forget it: the poem he spoke to her to lull her to sleep; the tales that accompanied it.

Stories of butterflies: of a love so great that it could survive the ages.

Experiences that turned into bedtime stories; that became those of legend.

Lives that grew to be epic; people that surpassed time; love that conquered all.

.

Bending forward, her heart beats the letters her finger traces out.

_Charles 'Chuck' Bartholomew Bass  
__5/19/1991 - 12/26/2018  
__Unforgettable Friend, Brother, Son, Husband and Father._

_**He loved like no other and gave us Heaven on Earth.**_

She presses a kiss to his memory; cold to the touch, but fire in the soul.

As she stands, delicate hands run over her skirt, smoothing out any creases, before passing over the silk of her headband; twirling round the large red bow and threading through loose chocolate curls that cascade past her shoulders.

And with one last look she turns and goes to join the two awaiting figures on the other side of the grass; it's not greener, just different.

Hands reach out to her and she takes her place between them, their fingers entwining with her own; restoring what has become the natural order of their lives.

The wind whips around her, and her hair is caught in the undertow, as charms dance in the breeze and tingle against the soft skin of her wrist; she catches sight of the tiny creature fluttering against the flow above where they stand.

She fixes her dark eyes on the black wings circling above their heads and smirks as her fingers clasp the hands of her mother and uncle ever tighter, and then Eden Iona Bass whispers to the sky and the land, the heavens and the Earth; every piece of the universe that is his:

"Don't worry Daddy, I'm looking after Mommy and Uncle Eric for you."

.

"_Unable are the loved to die. For love is immortality."  
__**Emily Dickinson**_

.

The End.

* * *

A/N: I know Chuck's name is actually 'Charles' but I figured Blair would give him what he wanted; and at least in my fic, he's always preferred Chuck anyway ;)  
Poem is 'Touched By A Butterfly' by Michael Levy  
And there really is a necklace called the 'Heart of the Kingdom' - costs like $14 million dollars, haha, but this IS Chuck Bass after all; no expense spared an all that ;) Surely we can suspend disbelief a bit here an say he gave it to Blair who then gave it to Eden to wear on this very special day, no? ;P  
Oh, and I tried to work out a plausible timeline for the end to all occur, so it should work out.

Hope you liked the end – I'll be posting a 'missing scenes' chapter next, but it won't affect the rest of the story or anything; it was just some sections I wasn't sure where to include and didn't want to make into full chapters, is all.

Thanks you all for sticking with me during this fic – anyone who read, reviewed, alerted or favourited! It honestly means just so much to me!  
Steph  
xxx


	10. Missing Scenes' Between Ch7 & Epilogue

A/N: If you like the way I ended things in Homecoming, feel free NOT to read on.

**Summary:** Just a few 'Missing Scenes' between Chapter Seven and the Epilogue.  
This changes what could be interpreted as Chuck dying in Chapter Seven and makes it so that he lives on for a short while and then dies, so it's the missing scenes of 'what could have been' if I'd added in a few chapters between Chapter Seven and the epilogue.

* * *

"_There are only four questions of value in life.  
What is sacred?  
Of what is the spirit made of?  
What is worth living for?  
What is worth dying for?  
The answer to each is the same. Only love."  
**Don Juan Demarco**_

.

He named it the Eden/Iona Project, what he discovered.

He said when people received it, it'd be like Heaven on Earth: being given that second chance at life.

It was the name they chose for their daughter.

Eden Iona Bass.

Like that tiny Scottish coastal island he'd lived on once upon a time.

The place where he found himself: made a life; gained lifelong friendships; extended his family.

Like the cure for cancer his company produced.

The gift he gave others; the contribution he bequeathed to the world in their search for life everlasting.

Like that slice of Heaven he'd received all those years ago, brought back with him to extend to her and Eric.

She was a living embodiment of their love.

The miracle that shared her name existed to give the world hope; she was alive because her family had faith.

.

_"Love knows no limit in its endurance, no end to its trust, no fading of its hope; it can outlast anything. Love stands still when all else has fallen."  
**Anonymous**_

.

They will survive, because he is Chuck and she is Blair.

Chuck and Blair, Blair and Chuck.

And they love each other.

It's the mantra she repeats to herself everyday; the song she finds singing in her heart when she looks into her daughter's eyes.

The words his brother tells her in the dark of the night when she calls him with tears of betrayal threatening to fall and ruin this life they've carefully crafted around them. _It will last_, the younger says to her ever time; so assured in his brother's influence. _You'll be together. Always._

And she believes him, because in her heart she knows this to be true. When she looks at him, hears his voice, feels his touch; she knows this to be true. When she even so much as thinks her daughter's name; she knows this to be true. When she speaks to his brother, when she speaks to Eric; when they are merely in one another's company; she knows this to be true.

They've created a life; formed by faith; held together by love.

It can't fail; they won't let it.

.

"_Home is the one place in all this world where hearts are sure of each other. It is the place of confidence. It is the place where we tear off that mask of guarded and suspicious coldness which the world forces us to wear in self-defence, and where we pour out the unreserved communications of full and confiding hearts. It is the spot where expressions of tenderness gush out without any sensation of awkwardness and without any dread of ridicule."  
__**Frederick**_ _**W. Robertson**_

.

He winces, his arms outstretched, palms up, as his knees give out. Exhaustion and pain cripple him of any remaining strength he has and he collapses on the solid floor as stars explode behind eyelids he'll never remember closing.

And she's screaming his name, grasping for him as he falls. Her head is snapping to the side as she calls out, to anyone, to everyone, a desperate plea. And as she cradles him, her hand runs over his skin, willing his heart to beat under her touch.

He blinks slowly and stares up at her; his eyes telling her what his mouth can't.

"When I say I love you, it isn't out of habit or to make conversation. I say it to remind you that you're the best thing that ever happened to me."

Her tears fall onto his face and wet his cheeks as the words he spoke to her mere hours prior sound in her ears.

She feels the walls around her start to crumble as the life they've made together; the _home_ they forged through everything; dissolves in the diminishing clarity of his eyes.

She's only grateful that the last thing he sees is that which he loves most of all.

.

"_Love is everything it's cracked up to be… It really is worth fighting for, being brave for, risking everything for.__"  
**Erica Jong**_

.

Chuck Bass dies on a cool winter evening under a glittering sky in his wife's arms.

He stares up into the eyes of his first love and his heart spills from his lips with crimson words that break her heart.

He takes his last breath as his gaze falls on the photo that rests on their bedroom mantle; the shades of blonde that darken to brown, the myriad of faces that have shaped his life.

When his dark eyes settle on the three figures in the center; their family; his everything, it's like looking into a black hole.

He's leaving them, and he's trying to take everything he can with him. It's heartbreaking and gut-wrenching, and absolutely nothing like the movies used to tell her of the grand romances and their tragic end.

This is love, she thinks.

Hard, and terrifying, and completely consuming: but unequivocally worth it.

.

"_Love is all we have, the only way we each can help the other."  
**Orestes**_

.

The funeral is hard. It'd be exactly as Chuck would've wanted it: with her influence, obviously – if he'd bothered to plan his funeral. He didn't; well, he did; but she still felt the need to oversee everything. It kept her mildly occupied; kept her mind ticking over on things to prepare, gave her an immediate purpose.

Stopped her from thinking of her imminent future as a single mother, a widow.

Eric is there throughout; he's never _not_ been there for her. He relishes his role as an uncle like it's always been his calling in life; but she knows it runs deeper than that.

Eden cries for her father, cries that ring loud and unanswered from the House of God all the way to the open grave. And while others look to her and those nearest to take the child away; to spare her, and them, this horror that is so unimaginable to them because they were not the ones burying the love of their life; Eric simply takes her hand in his and lets his niece's tears wash over him as well because they are more telling of the man they have lost, and the life he gave them, than any words could ever be.

There is an understanding there that she has only found with one other person; a person they once shared; a person they continue to share in the little girl that looks every bit like her mother, except for her eyes; she has her father's eyes.

Blair wouldn't have it any other way.

.

"_Other arms reach out to me  
Other eyes smile tenderly  
Still in peaceful dreams I see  
The road leads back to you..."  
__**'Georgia on My Mind', Ray Charles**_

.

The guests have all left and the house feels suddenly empty. She hates it already.

And she's completely and utterly terrified of going to sleep alone, in the bed they shared together, in the room where he took his last breath.

She's lying on their daughter's bed, stroking Eden's hair as the little girl sleeps. A small smile lights up her face, even in the lands of slumber, and she snuggles further into her mother's side.

It amazes Blair how she and Chuck could have made something so innocent, so perfect; so utterly magical and spellbinding.

Her eyes fall on the picture by her daughter's bedside; the one her _Uncle Lachlan _had provided. Chuck is standing in front of his house, on that little island off the coast of Scotland that became home to him in those intermittent years, looking off to the distance; out to the sea, while land stretches behind him. He looks completely at peace.

She'll take their daughter there sometime; show her the place where her father made a home in a world where he found he could no longer fit. And they'd discover a part of him they never knew, together.

Her gaze drifts up to the screen before her: her husband is sitting in the hand-crafted rocking chair that still holds pride of place in the corner of the room she's in now; their daughter cradled in his arms, nestled perfectly into his chest, as he sings softly to her and gently lulls her to sleep.

It's the Michael Levy poem he found, converted to lyrics and then sang to their daughter every night as she went to sleep.

She watches as his head lifts, and a smile lights up his face, his eyes shining.

She remembers the moment she recorded this sight: standing in the doorway, watching her husband and daughter. The tears fall faster, as the realization hits her that it is something she'll never witness again.

And her heart breaks that little bit more for her daughter; the little girl who's going to grow up fatherless, the child who'll never truly learn firsthand what an amazing man Chuck Bass was.

But as she carries on watching, sees her husband continue singing; looking down at the little girl in his arms with nothing short of utter adoration and the smile he gave her still spread widely across his lips, eyes brighter than they'd been in a long while; she realizes that they'll be ok.

Because in that moment, she understands just how much her husband impacted on their lives and the lives of those around them, recognizes that neither she nor her daughter will ever forget the man who called them his own.

Blair leans down and presses a kiss to her daughter's forehead, gently sweeping away her dark locks, she rests her hand over Eden's heart; feeling it beat beneath her palm with the love that created their perfect little girl.

The love that first joined Chuck Bass and Blair Waldorf all those years ago and refused to let go.

The love that lived on in their daughter as she grew into the perfect embodiment of her father and mother.

And it would continue to live on.

Forever.

Because true love never ends.

.

"_Small child  
once you were a hope, a dream.  
Now you are a reality.  
Changing all that is to come.  
A love to hold our hearts forever.__"  
**Charlotte Gray**_

.

The End.

* * *

Thanks so much for all your support with this fic. For anyone who's alerted, favourited, reviewed – read. It means so so much to me! Thank you!  
Steph  
xxx


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